The Reality of Fantasy
by Souris
Summary: What would have happened if Killian had not still been on the Jolly Roger when Emma and Hook arrived in the Season 3 finale? How far would Emma have gone? Spoiler: Pretty darn far. Captain Swan, of course.


The Reality of Fantasy

By: Souris

Rated: M

"Once Upon a Time" romance/angst. Captain Swan.

Author's note: What would have happened if Killian had not still been on the Jolly Roger when Emma and Hook arrived in the season finale? How far would Emma have gone? Spoiler: Pretty darn far.

xxxxxx

Emma let Hook guide her out of the tavern and toward the docks. She should absolutely think of a way to divert him from their destination. The Jolly Roger was the very last place they should be going. What if Killian hadn't finished convincing Snow to steal the ring? What if he was still onboard? It would be a disaster.

She knew this. And yet, she kept walking, Hook's arm around her shoulders, rum bottle tight in his grip. His steps were slightly unsteady, and he periodically nuzzled her hair, his breath warm against her neck. It made her entire body warm. As they approached the docks, a hooded woman slipped past them, heading back toward the tavern. Snow! In the distance, Emma saw a dark-clad figure stride across the gangway from the Jolly Roger onto the docks and walk briskly in the opposite direction. So Killian had accomplished his mission. As she realized she no longer needed to keep Hook occupied, she felt an overwhelming sense of disappointment. This diversion was over.

She stopped, and Hook stumbled for an instant before turning to look at her. "Not having second thoughts, are you, love?" he asked. "I would hate for our evening to end so soon. My ship is just there." His voice dropped to a seductive whisper. "And I promise you, you will be fully satisfied."

Emma stared at him, her body humming in response to the radiant sin flashing in his eyes. She had tried, God knows she had tried, but there was no denying that she wanted him, had wanted to feel his body moving against hers ever since that damned beanstalk, when something primal and instinctive had sparked between them. Remembering how he had bandaged her hand with his mouth still made her breath hitch and hunger curl deep within her. That early desire had grown into something more in the time since, something layered and complicated and terrifying, something she didn't dare let herself think about or examine too closely. It was too comfortable and too disquieting all at once. She had thought their fevered kiss in Neverland might get it out of her system, but it had only made things worse. There could be no "one time thing" with Killian ever again … because it wouldn't be.

But this man standing before her? He offered no strings, no risk, nothing that made her want to simultaneously grab onto him for dear life and run far, far away. He offered only passion and pleasure. One night, one hour to fulfill all her fantasies, the ones that came deep in the dark when her defenses were down and her imagination ran free. The ones that woke her from vivid dreams, body sweating and shuddering. Or, infinitely worse, feeling warm and content and safe in his arms, before reality came clattering down.

How many one-night stands had she had? She couldn't even begin to guess. What was one more?

And if they failed in restoring the timeline and getting her parents to fall in love, then, by God, she could at least have him this once before she blinked from existence. If she could have nothing else, she could have this.

"I'll warn you, captain, I'm not easily satisfied. But I'll hold you to that promise," she replied, voice husky, as his mouth at last came down on hers, hot and demanding and familiar, and she pushed thought away, to be replaced by a deep and demanding need.

Somehow, they stumbled the rest of the way to the ship, hands and lips groping at every inch of each other they could reach.

"Captain? " She vaguely noticed Smee's confused expression as they passed him on deck. "You just left a minute ago, and your vest has changed again! What in the world is-"

"Privacy, Mr. Smee! We aren't to be disturbed!" Hook roared, and then they were clattering down the ladder into his quarters, hands ripping desperately at clothes, God, how she hated these clothes, there were too many ties and laces and buttons and layers, until finally, blessedly, they were all strewn on the floor and she felt nothing but his skin on hers, his muscles hard and taut under her fingers, as they fell onto his bed in a tangle of limbs. He recaptured her mouth with his, their tongues sliding against one another until they were both breathless and panting.

A mad, wild joy bubbled up within her. "This is all very enjoyable, but I believe I was promised a nightcap," she teased, and his sudden burst of laughter sent shivers of desire straight to her core.

"Thirsty lass, are you?" he asked, as he reached for the bottle of rum that had miraculously ended up upright on the floor by the bed. He offered it to her, and she propped herself up on one elbow and gulped down a large swig, the burn in her throat matching that in the rest of her body. She felt drunk and delirious and wonderful, more wonderful than she had felt in years, maybe ever. She felt free.

She handed the bottle back to him, expecting him to take a drink himself, but instead he paused, a mischievous grin lighting up his face. "I find I'm rather parched, myself." He tilted the bottle, and she gasped as the cool liquid splashed onto her right breast, followed immediately by his mouth. His tongue swirled around her nipple, licking up the rum, before he sucked the hardened bud into his mouth, teeth grazing the sensitive skin.

She collapsed back against the bed, vision blurring, every nerve ending in her body seeming to fire at once as he repeated the process on her other breast, her fingers grabbing at the mattress, his hair, his shoulder, anything she could find to hold onto to keep from flying away. God, nobody had ever set her afire this quickly, this fully before. She was already strung tight as a bow, and she felt as if she could snap at any moment. He moved slowly downward, and her stomach muscles fluttered as he poured rum into her navel. She cried out as he flicked his tongue into the hollow, over and over again, lapping up the alcohol heated by her body.

He was close, so very close to where she needed him, but he seemed determined not to give it to her yet, pouring more rum into her navel, his tongue and lips drinking and circling and dancing around her abdomen in slow, sinuous arcs. Her hips began to grind against the bed, her head tossing on the pillow, and she mewled as he moved his mouth across her.

"Please," she begged, shameless, wanton, wanting his mouth between her legs as she had never wanted anything in her entire life. She would die if he didn't get there now. "Please!" And then she felt the cool liquid trickle down between her hot folds and she cried out at the exquisite sensation, the hint of burning soothed immediately as his lips and tongue suckled her.

"Gods, you're so wet," he whispered. "You taste so good." The rum bottle clattered to the floor, and he devoted his full attention to her dripping core. Her hips were circling wildly against the mattress, and she felt the cool metal of his hook against her flank as he tried to hold her in place. The hardness of it sent a jolt straight to her center, and she dug her fingers into his dark hair. She moaned as he nipped at her clitoris, then spread her folds to dip the tip of his tongue inside her before withdrawing it to lick her again and again. The things this man could do with his mouth were beyond carnal. Her eyes were closed, but she saw stars, thousands of them exploding behind her eyelids. And then he dragged the curved edge of his hook between her folds, the end just barely grazing her clit, and she was gone, screaming as she was sucked into the dizzying whirlpool of her orgasm.

When she came back to herself, he was hovering over her stomach, staring up at her intently, his blue eyes alight with an intense desire and something else, a hint of the same something she had been seeing in those same eyes in the future. It looked like a promise, like forever. For the first time, she realized how dangerous this game she had been playing truly was, what the consequences could be. This wasn't just a fantasy. It was as real as anything that had ever happened to her, and she couldn't look in his eyes anymore. She rolled to her side and onto her hands and knees. Let him take her from behind, so she could feel only his body, his lust, not his emotions. "Would you like it like this, captain?" she purred, shaking her hair so it cascaded down her back.

He rested against her, and she felt his erection against her back. A new jolt of electricity sizzled through, and her breath caught. His mouth nipped at her ear, and she moved against him, desperate for him to enter her. But instead he whispered, "No, lass. I want to see your face when I'm inside you."

And then he was shifting her onto her back, and there were those eyes again, so impossibly blue and deep and dangerous. She could fall into them. She wrapped her legs around him, and he thrust into her with a low groan. She cried out as he filled her, and he stopped for a moment to give her time to adjust, but she grabbed at his hips, begging him to continue. They moved together, spurring one another on. This was what she had wanted, and it was everything and more and not enough and she could never, ever get enough of it. "Yes, yes, yes, harder, yes!" She was vaguely aware that the keening cries were her own, mingling with his fragmented moans of pleasure and barely heard utterances. "You're glorious … so beautiful … like a princess."

It was too much. She closed her eyes, burying the side of her head into the pillow as their bodies tried desperately to merge into one. She teetered on the precipice, closer and closer with each thrust deep inside her, until she was there and falling and flying and shattering into a million sharp pieces. "Killian!" His name was ripped from her throat, and he poured himself into her with an unintelligible cry of his own. They clutched at one another, riding the waves together, their sweat-glistened bodies slowly coming to rest. For untold moments, his weight was heavy on her, and she stroked his hair, his shoulders, his back, trying to memorize every vital, blessed sensation - the way his beard scratched against her neck, the softness of his hair against her fingers, the vague but satisfying tenderness between her thighs where he had pounded into her.

Then, with a sigh, he rolled off her and onto his side, his eyelids fluttering as he brushed sweaty strands of hair from her face. "You'd make a hell of a pirate." His voice was soft and slurred, as the rum and the sex caught up to him. His hand dropped to the bed, and his eyes flickered shut. His next words were barely even a whisper. "Sail with me, love." His breathing slowed and then he was asleep, looking suddenly so ineffably young and so very familiar that her heart clenched.

And reality washed over her.

Killian - her Killian - was waiting for her. They had to get her parents to meet. They had to get them to fall in love. They had to get home. These minutes had been greedily stolen from them, from herself. It had been an exquisite madness to have given in to her desires. She could have changed everything even more. She could have changed him.

She could have changed herself.

"Please don't remember me," she whispered to the man beside her and any entity who happened to be listening. "Please blame the rum." She gathered her clothes, dressed quickly, and stole from the ship.

xxxxxx

She hurried back to the tavern but pulled up short when she saw Killian pacing back and forth in the alleyway beside it, agitation pouring off him in almost visible waves. She hesitated, fear seeping through her. What if he remembered?

He caught sight of her and rushed forward, grabbing her by the arm as if to make sure she was truly there. "Swan! Where have you been? You weren't in the tavern! Are you OK? Did he hurt you?"

She relaxed and sent up a silent prayer of thanks. He didn't remember. "Of course not. I've always been able to handle you, you know." She forced herself to smile in what she hoped was a reassuring manner. She hadn't given a thought to how very hard it would be to look at Killian afterward. He seemed almost able to read her mind at times, and that unerring, disconcerting ability of his had never been more worrying. She couldn't let him know what had happened between them; she knew it would rock him. But keeping it from him felt suddenly wrong, almost like a betrayal. Could you betray someone with himself, when you weren't even in a relationship to start with? It was enough to give her a headache; the entire situation was beyond absurd. Common sense told her she should not have done it, and yet … she couldn't find it in herself to regret it. It had been amazing and intoxicating and so very satisfying. And she was the only one who would ever know. "I wanted to make sure I gave you enough time. Did Snow agree?"

"Yes, she's going to the party to steal the ring." He still seemed distressed, and guilt at causing him to worry pinched at her. That, she did regret. "Are you sure nothing bad happened?"

His aversion to his past self was heartbreakingly obvious. It had amused her earlier, but now she wanted only to reassure him. Because, she thought wryly, she was the one he should have distrusted. "You did nothing wrong. Well, no, you did steal a bottle of rum and drink most of it. I'm pretty sure you're going to have a wicked hangover in the morning."

Finally, he accepted her assurances. Or rather, she realized, allowed himself to. "Good. I deserve it. Wouldn't be the first time. Come on. We should go."

As they made their way toward Midas's castle, she caught herself staring at him, at the way his hair curled slightly behind his ears. At the dark strands of chest hair that lay above the neck of his vest, making her fingers itch to run through them. At the way his lips turned up at the corners when he looked over to make sure she was OK. And she remembered how those lips had felt against her. And her body hummed.

He didn't remember, but she could never forget.

xxxxxx

Hook awoke alone the next morning with a dry mouth, pounding head and inexplicable sense of loss. That he had been with a woman was obvious, but his only memories were as ephemeral and intangible as the mist that hovered over the water's surface on cool evenings. Sometimes he thought for a moment that he could grasp one, but they would always drift away, just out of reach.

For weeks, he found himself returning to the same tavern, looking for he knew not who or what. His men grew restless for the bounty of the sea, their shares of the golden spoils all squandered on drink and women, and there was no reason he could supply not to oblige them. And so they sailed again. Eventually, he forgot that there was ever anything to remember.

And if he sometimes had vivid dreams of a faceless, blonde siren who set his body and soul afire, and if he found the tavern wenches who invariably clustered around him in port less enticing than he used to, and if he occasionally had the sensation that he had forgotten something vitally important - well, 300 years on Neverland was bound to do things to one's mind. A little madness was to be expected. There were still things in his life that he could count on - the Jolly Roger, rum, piracy and revenge, always revenge for Milah - and he clung to them tightly. They were reality. Everything else was just a fantasy.


End file.
